


Falling from a significant height

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 08:34:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20812169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: Sherlock and John are living their best lives. Happy at last. Whole in their love and happy in their sexy times. A little fluff to take with your next cup of tea.





	Falling from a significant height

Sherlock sits comfortably in his chair; having showered and changed into his favorite ratty t-shirt, pajama bottoms with his blue dressing gown draped over his shoulders. He is totally at ease, relaxed and pliant.

Sitting at his side, John is still rumbled and dirty from their chaotic chase through the maze of back alleys of London’s darker edges. His medical triage kit open on the small table beside him; it has everything he needs to care for all manor of injuries. He is busy working on Sherlock’s wound; totally in doctor mode.

The knife wound on Sherlock’s forearm is substantial. When it happened, John had applied direct pressure with his bare hand until the EMT’s arrived and had given him proper sterile bandages. Of course, Sherlock had refused a trip to the A & E; proclaiming that he had the very best physician in all of London to care for him. John had smirked at that pronouncement as he circled the wound tightly with ample amounts of clean bandages. 

Sadly, Sherlock knew the Belstaff would need some surgery also. But Marlan, his tailor and dry cleaner, has always worked miracles on the much abused coat. All that will be attended to. Nothing to worry about there.

Sherlock watches as John attends to his wound; repeatedly cleaning the laceration again and again.

“I think it’s clean, John.” Sherlock’s smile is filled with mild humor at his thoroughness. 

Sighing, John looks up into the blue, green, touched with gold eyes of his flatmate. “I have no idea where the blade of that knife has been and I’m not taking any chances with infection.” John uses his command voice and his, I’m not taking any shite about this, face.

_Okay,_ Sherlock thinks, _enough said there._

When John has cleansed the wound to his satisfaction, he begins injecting micro amounts of local anesthesia along the edge of the wound. Though Sherlock is impervious to the needle pain, he always marvels at the way John can repeatedly inject, while causing negligible discomfort.

Now the stitching begins. Minimalist sutures that are strong enough to maintain themselves amidst Sherlock’s rough and tumble life style, yet diminutive enough to leave a barely there scar. 

Sherlock watches as John performs his medical miracle. The word focus can’t really describe his ability to totally concentrate on his work and yet be absolutely alert to his surroundings. John is a wonder to behold. Sherlock smiles inside and out. His John is like no other. 

“His” the word lingers in his busy mind. Yes, “His”, is appropriate. The two, long ago, becoming one. Sherlock can no longer think of himself without John at his side.

Did that happen when he flirted a wink at the soldier/physician so long ago? When his heart beat wildly at the knowledge that one John Watson had shot through two sets of windows, across an expanse of space between two adjoining buildings to save his life from a cabbie called Hope? 

The realization hits him that it had been inevitable, like the inexplicable movement of falling from a significant height. Falling into the orbit of his conductor of light.

Sherlock reaches out with his left hand to touch his doctor, his solider, his life. John looks up, his dark eyes a beacon of unconditional love. 

Smiling, the skin on Sherlock’s face crinkles about his eyes. This is a true smile, not a for-the-case smile. 

John’s smile is like the sun beaming from behind storm clouds. Like the dazzling array of stars in a night time country sky. Mesmerizing, tantalizing and more welcome than anything before or after. Finished with his medical services, John clasps Sherlock’s jaw and gently pulls him into a cherished kiss.

“Let me clean up, then I can do a thorough examination to make sure you’re in excellent condition”. John’s touch is different now. Searing and sensual, nothing like the doctor’s formal and finessed earlier approach.

Sherlock feels his mind go off line as generous portions of his transport begin to vie for attention. John’s ‘examinations’ were always deeply appreciated. Deeply being the operative word. 

John is running his small, sturdy hand from Sherlock’s cheek down along his chest to lightly flow over his lap as he stands; sparks, lightning and electrical storms course within Sherlock as his head falls back against his chair.

Looking over his shoulder, John is plucking the buttons through the holes of his shirt as he glides away. His face is an expression of pure, blissful lust. 

Energized, Sherlock pops out of his chair to prepare himself for the evenings activities in their love nest. 

Sherlock positions himself on the bed to display his many charms. John enters the room, his compact, muscular body outlined by the door frame. Wearing only his dangerous eyes and an erection that bobs back and forth as he walks to the bed; crawling over Sherlock’s body. 

Sherlock is addicted to danger. John is all sorts of the very best kinds of danger. 

(-_-)

Plopped upon their bed like rag dolls, the couple lay draped across each other; shagged to pieces. Their afterglow more like the brilliance of a super nova. 

“I don’t know how you do that?” John comments. 

“It is getting harder to accomplish as I grow older and older.” Sherlock quips.

They both disintegrate into harmonically delightful giggles. John attempts to right himself. Failing miserable as Sherlock’s long reach pulls him back down into the bed.

“Sherlock I have to do the loo.”

“Alright, if you must.” Sherlock gives John a gentle push into an upright position.

John stands, wobbles a bit then heads for the loo in what one could only be described as a jaunty strut. 

Watching his lover amble away. Sherlock marvels at how his life has changed. How the world has changed since John Watson entered his lonely, chaotic life.

“Incoming!” 

A hot, moist flannel strikes dead center of Sherlock’s chest. 

“Shite!” Sherlock screams and plucks the offending flannel from his person. “John, you know this means...WAR!” 

Scrambling off the bed he attacks the flannel flinger with unbelievable enthusiasm. John is yipping and hooting as he jumps around the apartment. Trying desperately to out run and evade the hulking Holmes monster that wants to catch and devour him. It’s all great fun and exhausting activity. Leaving them both drained and deliriously happy. 

(-_-)

John rustles up a Full English as Sherlock orchestrates more free time for them as he solves crimes via computer. Lestrade sends complete cases to him through a secured sever. Speed reading all the data, photos and reports; he then digests it all and gives his insight into what really happened and who really did what to whom. It’s gotten to be incredibly efficient. Sherlock loves his life almost as much as he loves John.

Eating isn’t the problematic tussle it once was. Sherlock eats with a gusto that brings a shite eating grin to John’s lips. That transport thing really does need energy, which means calories, which means food and lots of John’s great cooking. The work continues as well as the relationship that makes Sherlock’s world turn round. Sherlock pushes his empty plate away as John wipes a touch of breakfast from Sherlock’s lips. 

(-_-)

They end up in bed, as they always do. Sherlock nestled into John’s comfortable body. John protectively encompassing the larger framed man with ease. Sherlock always marvels at the concept that the more diminutive human, John, can so completely embrace the much larger him? It remains one of those incomprehensible mysteries. One that he will work hard on solving, tomorrow.

Sleeping entwined within the confines of 221B, the legendary detectives dream of crimes, criminals, take-out and tender nights. Roof top runs, MI6 missions and Mycroft mishaps. Coming together and falling apart. All the bits and pieces of their amazing lives. Their stories constantly ebbing and flowing into their legend. A legend with a life of its own.


End file.
